


Asphodel

by Iridogorgia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragons, Employer employee dynamic, F/M, Magic, Slow Burn, molliarty - Freeform, yer a wizard molly hooper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2019-08-23 23:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16628216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iridogorgia/pseuds/Iridogorgia
Summary: When you need slightly-less-than-legal magic substances, you seek out ‘Moriarty’s Special Imports and Fineries’.  A new branch of Necromancy, pathologist-in-training Molly Hooper returns a set of counterfeit goods and receives a job offer in return.





	1. The Contract

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ridiculosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ridiculosity/gifts).



> “Underground mob boss for dicey magic substances you may be, but if you think I am leaving without dragon scales at two hundred gold a pop, you are thinking wrong.” - the original prompt from Ridiculosity. This one is going to be a great opportunity for world building, I can feel it!

“Fuck you, Moriarty!”  She spat, throwing open the door to the current location of ‘Moriarty’s Special Imports and Fineries’, almost knocking over a shelf full of phoenix feathers and vials of unicorn tears.

“Problem, Hooper?”  His fine, silky voice resonated around the tiny space.  He was lounging on an ornate, gold chair with a very high back, carved with a large dragon motif.  Set at the top, in the dragon’s eye, was a huge red spinel. It was the anchor the protection spell that formed a fine golden net in a sizable sphere around the small, dark man.  His hired muscle in the corner adjusted his two handed greatsword, ready lop off the intruder’s head at his boss’s signal.

Molly Hooper threw the blue velvet bag on the desk before him, hissing, “You sold me _fakes._  I want a fucking refund.”

He immediately narrowed his eyes and snapped the cuffs of his fine black shirtsleeves up.  He reached forward with two long, pale fingers and pinched the edge of the bag. “I disagree wholeheartedly.  I’ve skinned men for less than that, and your pretty face is currently your saving grace.”

Snorting, Molly adjusted the hem of her long blue robes, setting her white cloak to rights.  She was so insulted, so disappointed, “No, you sold me scales from a lapis lazuli wyvern, not a star sapphire dragon.  If I were any less of a magician I may have been fooled, since they’re so similar, but I assure you that I’ve inspected these quite closely.  They lack the subtle but unmistakable star shaped reflection under a conjured bluebell hellflame. In _addition_ , they very clearly have a serrated scalloped edge instead of a smooth scalloped edge.  While the color is nearly identical, you should know by now that I’m a _professional_.  If you try to fool me, you’re going to get _caught_.”  She crossed her arms and scowled at him.

He had flicked one finger toward the contents of the bag and levitated one scale out to hover before him.  He was frowning, and absently asked, “Do you happen to have one of those flames handy? I know they take a week to dispel.”

“Of course I do.  I’m not a _fool_.”  Molly dug into her soft leather satchel and pulled out a glass jar filled with dancing balls of flame.  They threw everything around them in a deep, almost violet, blue light. Her invisible magic affiliation tattoos on her hands lit up like starlight, and Moriarty’s eyes locked onto them.

“Fascinating,” he murmured as he held out his own hand to accept the jar from her.  Annoyingly, his hands didn’t glow at all under the light. She looked away and he smiled, his eyes tracing the delicate whorls and dips that marked every inch the light touched.  She set the jar delicately on his palm.

He held it up to the scale and, after a moment of study, snarled, “I’ll _fucking_ kill him.”  Molly Hooper was right, the scale was missing the star shaped reflection.  His face darkened and got truly sinister. “Moran. The gentleman that provided these for us.  Bring him to me.” The blonde mercenary in the corner grabbed his sword, nodded, and silently slipped out the back.

Moriarty turned his attention Molly and gave her a tight smile.  “I do apologize, Molly, this appears to be a matter with my supplier.  I assure you, I’ll give you a full refund. I request slightly more time to procure the proper product.”  He pulled a chest from under his desk and flipped it open, pulling out a familiar sack of coins. “I believe this is your full payment, feel free to count it to ensure it is complete.”

He conjured a plain black chair in front of his desk and gestured for her to sit.   She sighed and sat down gracefully, carefully adjusting them hem of her robes so she wouldn’t trip on them when she stood up.  Her cloak was swept over her shoulder and Jim purred, “Let me get that for you.” With a flick of his fingers, her cloak levitated off her shoulders to wait at her side, hanging ready for her to swing it back on again.  “I like your hair this way, it suits you.” She absently ran one hand over her side braid, looking at him for any attempts at flattery. The compliment seemed genuine, and that made her very nervous.

“Thank you,” she murmured, opening up the plain little pouch she’d sewn in a hurry, counting out her gold and copper coins.  Satisfied, she nodded, “This looks like all of it.”

She got up to collect her cloak and leave, when she felt a pressure on her shoulders that forced her back in to the chair.  “Please,” Moriarty purred, “Stay for a drink.”

Molly sighed and resigned herself.  “I suppose just one won’t hurt. What do you want to talk about?”  A cut crystal tumbler floated over, a stream of amber liquid flowing into it.

He leaned back, his own tumbler landing itself neatly in his palm.  “This is a brandy aged in fairywood and infused with the heart of a dying star.  Said to be quite smokey and have just the slightest hint of agony on the finish. For conversation, how are your studies going?  I’ve heard you’re almost done with your apprenticeship to Browning, that newfangled branch of Necromancy. Pathology, is it called?”

She raised her glass and he did the same, his eyes bright.  They each took a healthy swallow from their glass, Moriarty simply licking his lips while Molly’s face twisted up and she coughed out a little bit of smoke and a wave of stardust.  “I… yes,” she choked out, “I’ll be finished in a few months. Pathology is a mixture of magic and the sciences. So we can find out how a person died without raising the body to ask them.  Less loose souls manifesting as ghosts, the ability to discern cause of death even from a corpse that’s long been unable to talk, greatly reducing the incidents of, ah, undead bodies meandering about.”  She coughed discreetly onto the back of hand, the faint glittery residue refusing to shake off afterward.

He steepled his fingers under his chin, his tumbler hovering next to him.  “Fascinating. I daresay you’ll make a dent in my business handling such matters as poltergeists and inferni.  What did you need the scales for?”

Molly fluttered her eyelashes at him, “Trade secret.  But suffice it to say, you need better quality control.  If I had been any less competent and used those scales for my spell, it would have had very negative consequences for,” she paused the calculated, “a radius of about twenty leagues.”

Moriarty’s widened and his eyebrows shot up.  “That would have-”

She took another sip and this time, she let the glittering smoke curl out from between her lips with a smirk, “Included you and your little shop, yes.”

“Well,” he said after a heartbeat, “If you’re looking for side work, I am evidently hiring a quality control agent for potentially lethal magical substances.”

“When misused,” she said tartly, “every magical substance is potentially lethal.”

“Then I,” he shot back, “have a large volume of inventory to be inspected.  I’ll pay you.”

“Of course you will.  I also want a discount on all of it.  Everything that comes through here.”

He laughed, “Oh darling.  I’ll bite. How much of a discount?”

She tossed her bag of coin in the air and caught it deftly.  “I would have paid four hundred gold for each scale. I want to pay two hundred.  Half off.”

He paused.  His eyes flicked her up and down, assessing her.  He took another sip and breathed the smoke out his nose.  Before he could reply, another man gently opened the door without knocking.

His money chest had long been stored back in the desk, and Molly’s rough, handmade purse disappeared into her sleeve.  The bag of wyvern scales laid between them, and neither one reached for it.

“And what do we have here?” A deep, cultured baritone slid along her nerves like a knife.  Crap. Sherlock Holmes, independent detective specializing in magical crime. She felt a blush slide up along her neck, her cheeks feeling flushed and warm.  Slow, measured steps until they stopped directly behind her.

Moriarty’s eyes were firmly fixed on the man’s face, and Molly found she couldn’t blame him.  For an asshole, Sherlock Holmes was unfairly beautiful.

“We’re having a drink.  Would you care to join us?”  Moriarty’s voice had slipped into an incredibly seductive, dulcet tone.  He snapped his fingers and another chair, the twin to the one Molly sat on, appeared next to her.  A third tumbler hovered as it slowly filled with the same amber liquid. It beckoned Holmes, swaying seductively.

Sherlock made a slightly derisive noise in the back of his throat, stepping neatly to the side and flipping out the tail of his fashionably thigh-length cloak before it lifted off his shoulders as cleanly as Molly’s had.  “I’d hate to ruin finery tailored by Ser Belstaff, the man is a _genius_.”  Moriarty set it to hover next to Molly’s cloak, but a full head higher than hers.  As if Molly and Sherlock were standing side by side. She averted her eyes, refused to be embarrassed by floating pieces of cloth.

He stood stiffly for a moment before folding himself into the chair and primly crossing one ankle over his knee.  He accepted the drink from the air and held it aloft. “And what,” he said softly, far too innocently, “are we drinking to?”  His eyes flicked from Moriarty’s engaged face to the scale floating in the air. Molly clamped her lips shut and shakily held her glass up.

“Miss Hooper,” Jim started, “has just accepted a job offer from me.”  He gestured toward the scale and Molly almost dropped her drink. “She just completed her final test, which was to correctly identify this particular piece of fraudulent finery, and she did it _exceptionally_ well.”

Molly hissed through gritted teeth, “Part time, I’m still finishing my apprenticeship.  I just need the extra income.” She glared daggers at Moriarty.

“Really.”  The word came out heavy and flat, Sherlock sliding his bright blue-green gaze to Molly, pinning her in place.  “You know what type of man this is, Miss Hooper?”

“I,” Jim enunciated, “am a _consultant_.”  His grin was sharp enough to cut Sherlock across the face.

“He is a consultant, I am sure, but he is also a criminal and an underground mob boss peddling illegal magical substances!”  Sherlock’s voice rose slightly at the end, disapproval clear in his tone, but it wasn’t directed at Jim. It was directed at _her._  Molly bristled immediately.

“I don’t need you policing what company I choose to keep, Sherlock.”  Her tone was stiff and unappreciative. “Regardless of any substances, illegal or not, it’s good practice for me.  I’ll need to be able to differentiate between hundreds of different components of more than a thousand different potions and poisons, not to mention the variations that can occur, in each one, from compromised or counterfeit ingredients!”  She’d gone a little red in the face from her long-winded rant, and she was breathing heavily by the end. She looked away and took an angry sip of her brandy. A long stream of smoke shot out of her nose. She made the mistake of looking at Jim, who’s expression told her he wanted nothing more than to throw her on the table and ravage her.

His sharp smile and bright eyes locked onto her, but his voice was for Sherlock alone, “Well, Mr. Holmes, I think you have your answer.  What we’re talking about is Miss Hooper’s employment. Unless I’m mistaken, she’s decided to accept my offer?”

Molly looked up to immediately be startled by the inky gaze of Moriarty and the ocean-like eyes of Sherlock caught on her.

Sherlock gave her a smile and softened his voice, “Molly, I know that sometimes I ask a lot of you,” Jim’s head tilted suddenly at that little juicy bit of information, “and I always appreciate your help with the laboratory, but I don’t want you to be in the company of such a man for my behalf.  Decline the job and come for coffee with me instead.” He let his smile reach his eyes, “I could also use your eyes on a man who, inexplicably, seems to have turned inside out.”

Jim watched incredulously as the demanding woman who’d told him to go fuck himself not thirty minutes ago melted under the gaze of Sherlock Holmes.  The man was good, no doubt, to slather his tone in charm and exploit the debilitating crush the pathologist-in-training had on him. Jim doubted he could find her weaknesses any faster and the thought annoyed him.

Molly tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, her hands fiddling with her glass, “I… I… Sherlock, I’m not doing this for you.”  She looked down and didn’t see the way Sherlock’s face flattened like paper. She sighed and said softly, meekly, “I’m sorry, but I’d like to take the job.  You can leave, and I can help you later at the lab if you’d like.” Even softer, “I don’t mind the extra paperwork.” She licked her lips and took another nervous sip of the brandy.

He set the tumbler neatly on the edge of the desk, stood and grabbed his Belstaff cape, swinging it over his shoulders before stalking toward the door.  He paused, eyes flicking from the back of Molly’s head to Moriarty’s smug face. His eyes narrowed and he kept eye contact for a heartbeat too long to be innocent, then he flipped up the collar on his cape and slammed the door behind him.

Afterward Sherlock had stormed out, Jim looked at Molly and raised his eyebrow.  Before he could open his mouth, she sighed and mumbled, “I’m a sensible girl, Moriarty, always have been.  Until he walks into a room and suddenly I’m this little mouse. He turns me into a mouse.” She blushed and sunk lower in her chair.

He studied her for a minute.  Then, softly, “You stood up for yourself at first.  You were very articulate, Miss Hooper, and I think you did marvelously.  You folded when he tried to manipulate you.” She peeked up at him and he shrugged artfully, “No shame in that.  I’m willing to bet his gorgeous face and deep voice open a great many doors that might otherwise be closed to him.”  He managed, somehow, to not sound bitter about that.

“I would think so,” she said quietly.  Then, leaning in, she whispered, “I told him no once and he threw an honest-to-goodness temper tantrum!  He had to get his brother in to force me to give him access to the corpse.” She and Jim shared a secret smile.

“I’ll have to teach you how to recognize and resist the signs of his manipulation.  He’ll try to get to me through you, no doubt, especially since it appears we have quite a legitimate employment contract.”  Moriarty snapped his fingers and a scroll popped into existence, floating over to Molly for inspection. She grasped it carefully with one hand, setting her tumbler on the desk, before rolling it open to read it.  “Be thorough,” Jim called softly, “I won’t have you violating any rules based on ignorance. The consequences will be… harsh.”

Eyes scanning the parchment, she absently asked, “How are you going to teach me to resist Sherlock Holmes?  It sounds impossible.”

Playfully, but entirely serious, he quipped, “I’ll just have to seduce you until you can recognize aaaaall of the signs of manipulation.”

Molly’s eyes grew wide as she stared unseeing halfway down the parchment, her face frozen.  “I’m… I’m sorry?”

He cocked his head to the side, light from the protective spell reflecting off of his black, slicked back hair and dark eyes.  He was giving her a wide smile, his sharp teeth digging in ever so slightly to his lower lip. Winking, he took another sip of the brandy.  “Have dinner with me tonight.”

Molly blushed and refused to look at him, perusing the contract more thoroughly.  “I have work for my apprenticeship. This is my moonlighting job, remember?” Reaching the end, she pulled a self-inking quill from her satchel and started to write out amendments.  “I refuse to adhere to such astringent requirements. My apprenticeship comes first, this comes second. I’m also going to have to insist you don’t sell anything without my seal of approval.”

His smile disappeared and he looked incredulous.  “Do you realize how much product I move? Legal and otherwise?  That’s a very unrealistic demand for someone who refuses to be at my beck and call.”  He grabbed one of the scales off of the desk and flipped it between his fingers.

Her eyes flicked to him and then back to her contract.  “When your corpse comes into my morgue, I’ll be able to identify right away that you died of heavy metal poisoning.  Those scales contain incredibly high amounts of bismuth, platinum and lead. A little bit of an unusual combination, I’ll grant you, but combined?  Lethal. The magical residue makes absorption through the skin incredibly quick. It’s a defense mechanism.” He’d paused, the corner of the scale pinched between his thumb and forefinger.  She finished her edits, rolled the scroll back up and tossed it at him. It passed smoothly through his shield and he caught it deftly. He didn’t drop the wyvern scale.

She rolled her eyes, “Why are you still holding that thing?  I literally just told you that there’s a high probability it’s going to kill you.”  Standing up, she pulled her reinforced leather work gloves out of her back and put one of them on.  She held her hand out, palm up, and gave him a demanding look. “Hand it over. The bag was reinforced with spells.  You, however, are going to have to let me inspect your hand for damage.” He released the scale and floated over to rest neatly in the rough leather palm of the glove.  Inspecting it and waving her ungloved hand over it, making it glow in some spots, she muttered, “This is exactly why I don’t want you to sell anything without my approval.  Improper handling is incredibly dangerous.”

Jim rubbed the fingers that had been touching the scale together absently, watching the magic channel itself through her markings.  They lit up like starlight, slightly bluish-gold, and pulsed faintly.

After a few minutes of silence, watching her work and inspect the scale, he said, “You surprise me, Molly Hooper.  I like surprises.”

Whatever she was going to say died in her throat as the blonde, serious-faced mercenary from when she’d stormed in slipped in through the back, dragging a struggling body behind him.  “Here he is, Boss. Caught him at the edge of town, trying to run off.”

“Ah, wonderful.  Molly, meet the man who brought me the scales that I then, in turn, sold to you.  Durkins, Miss Hooper. Miss Hooper, Durkins.” Jim turned his chair, the shimmering net pulsing around him, the mesh growing tighter.  It grew brighter for a moment and he gave a frightening grin. “You want to kill me, Durkins. Admirable, if not a little stupid.”

He nodded to Molly.  “Go ahead, love, tell him what those scales would have done if you’d used them.”

She licked her lips, eyes flickering between Jim and the man on the floor.  He was dirty, his clothes threadbare, and his hands were…

“I think he already knows,” she said softly.  She took two steps closer, the hem of her bright blue robes swishing around her ankles.  Crouching, she asked, “Mister Durkins, where did you get those scales?”

He gasped out in a rough, scratchy voice, “None o’ yer concern, ye highborne _bitch_.”  Molly stood abruptly and stepped back.  Her clothes were finer than some, true, but was she really ‘highborne’ to a man like this?  The hate in the man’s voice was palpable. He gave a laugh, “Oh, I bet ye dinna even think fo’ a mo’ about the little people, did ye?  How many got to die so ye might have yer pretty baubles fer yer pretty spells?” He spat at her feet, “Me brothers all _died_ trying to get those scales.  We all-” At Moriarty’s nod, the mercenary picked him up by his neck and held him tightly.

Molly swallowed and averted her eyes.  Quietly she said, “He’ll be dead in a matter of hours.  He must have held them in his hands for quite some time. They’re black, and his nails are about to fall out.  I…”

Jim intervened smoothly, “Moran, put Durkins out of his misery.  Quietly and in the back.” He turned his eyes to her. “When he shows up in your morgue, you’ll find a corpse heavy with wyvern scale poisoning who slit his own throat rather than handle the pain.”

Molly suddenly felt pinned in place by his gaze, a small animal being stared down by a jungle cat.  She licked her lips, “I… he wouldn’t have been able to do that. His hands were too swollen. A… a fall would be more believable.  Or drowning. His limbs would hurt too badly to swim properly by this point.” Jim snapped his fingers and Moran gave a curt nod.

Jim was giving her such an approving smile, his eyes practically shining, and he purred, “Yet again, Miss Hooper, you surprise me.”  He produced the contract once more, not even bothering to look at it. “I accept your terms.” He rolled it open and produced a wicked little stiletto blade from his sleeve, pricking his finger and signing his name deftly.

Flipping the handle around, he sent both scroll and knife floating toward Molly.  She grasped the carved ivory handle nervously, rereading the contract quickly. Squeezing her eyes closed, she quickly sliced open her thumb and clumsily left her signature.  There was a slight burn on her wrist as she felt the bond taking place, a matching solid black line appearing on Moriarty’s wrist as well before both faded away into nothing. As the blade and contract floated away from her, she stuck her thumb her mouth.

“Fascinating,” Jim murmured, his hand propping up his chin as the knife slid back into his sleeve and the contract disappeared into his desk.  “You just told me how to murder a man and have it be a believable suicide, but you wince at the thought of pricking your own thumb.” His eyes roved over her, and he smiled again, “You are a very different sort of woman, Miss Hooper.  I like that.”

She sighed and grabbed her cloak, swinging it around her shoulders.  “I’m needed at the lab. When do you think you’ll have those star sapphire dragon scales?”  She spent her time buttoning the high neck on her cloak and adjusting her bag, avoiding eye contact with him.

He leaned back and crossed one ankle over his knee.  Steepling his fingers under his chin, he hummed, “I’m not entirely sure about that.  It seems the man’s family, whom I relied upon for all things involving dragons, has suddenly ceased to exist.”  He shrugged his shoulders and blinked lazily, “I’ll have to get back to you on that. Unless…”

She looked at him sharply, “Unless what?”

Moriarty gave her a wide smile, “Unless you, myself and Moran were to go get the scales ourselves.  I could close up shop for a few days, if you could beg off of your apprenticeship work for that long.”

Molly blinked at him and raised her eyebrow, “You want _me_ , a pathologist-in-training, to go _dragon hunting?”_

He rolled his eyes, “Of course not, darling, that would be hilarious but also probably very lethal.  It’s the spring, and don’t star sapphires shed a few winter scales when it starts to get warm?”

She hesitated and bit her thumb, before reluctantly answering, “...yes, technically, but only females of breeding age.  And the quality isn’t the same as one plucked fresh.”

“Then you’ll have to wait for an unspecified amount of time.”  He shrugged elegantly and looked supremely unconcerned. He pulled another scroll out from his desk and unrolled it, seemingly immediately absorbed in it.

Molly stood uncertainly in the middle of the little shop, her cloak swirling around her.  It was a good opportunity, she had to admit. Moriarty must have been a powerful magician to maintain such a strong shield spell while levitating and conjuring objects out of thin air.  Moran, the mercenary, had looked plenty capable as well. She looked around for a moment, noticing all of the legal ingredients, most of them rare but some of them common enough that he probably sold them in sets, and remembered buying the scales from this man originally.  They were highly restricted and it was technically illegal for her to purchase or possess them, but she was sick of learning spells and potions in theory. She was a professional, just because her discipline was new didn’t mean it wasn’t worthy of respect and the ability to get a license to buy said specialty ingredients.

He’d been nothing but courteous and understanding, not pretending to know what Pathology was about and not dismissing it entirely either.  She’d given him coin, and to his knowledge, he’d fulfilled his half of the discreet bargain.

Now, at her fingertips, a world of knowledge almost beyond her comprehension.  The offer to go find a star sapphire nest and see one of the amazing creatures outside of a bookplate?  Learning the business side of things, procurement and inventory, processing and storage, and she got a heavy feeling in her chest.  She’d pulled back the curtain, it was no longer theoretical in books, she could reach out and touch any of these components and she knew, instinctively, that Jim would encourage her to practice.  Molly swallowed. There was no closing this door once she stepped through, she knew.

“Why,” he said softly, not looking up from his parchment, “are you still here?”

“I’m thinking,” she murmured, “that this must be entirely too good to be true.”

His dark eyes, framed by sooty lashes, caught hers and he lifted one long brow.  She dipped her head slightly and said softly, “Give me three days to arrange the time off and find someone to feed my cat.  We can leave at night, under the full moon.”

He tipped his head back and gave a satisfied smile, “I look forward to it, Miss Hooper.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating this sporadically, so I'm not sure when the next chapter will be! Please let me know your thoughts.


	2. Field Study

Molly beamed at her landlady, “Thank you so much, Mrs. Hudson, I really appreciate you stopping in to feed Tobias while I’m gone.”  She hefted her large canvas knapsack over her shoulder, debating putting two of her texts back in her room. The bag was heavy, and didn’t sit well over her cape.  She’d brought her black oilcloth cloak instead of her white wool one, even though the thicker fabric fell around her in a much less flattering way and interfered with the straps of her bag.  Mrs. Hudson had been complaining of knee pain since the previous evening, which usually indicated rain.

“Oh no problem dearie, at least you had the good manners to ask first.  I swear, the new tenants think I’m the housekeeper as well as the landlady!”  Mrs. Hudson smiled at her affectionately, patting her hand.

Molly tilted her head, “I didn’t notice any new tenants moving in.  Who are they?”

Molly had taken a set of apartments in the kindly widow’s estate at the beginning of her apprenticeship, and found 221C Baker Street to be quite comfortable.  It got good light, there was plenty of room of cauldrons and sensitive scientific equipment, and it was very close to a small leyline that boosted her power during her attuned phases of the moon.  The upper units, A and B, had remained empty for the duration, and it seemed the older woman wasn’t hurting for funds, so there was no rush to let them out. Molly had rather enjoyed the privacy and quiet dinners she would occasionally share with Mrs. Hudson.  Her Sunday roasts were spectacular, and they both enjoyed lemon tarts.

Mrs. Hudson sighed and absently adjusted her rose-patterned apron.  “Two young men, a detective and a retired army doctor, both rather young but oh, I am starting to think they’re going to upset our quiet routine!  Holmes and Watson, I believe their names were.” She reached out and fussed over Molly’s cloak and the front of her brown, roughspun traveling dress, ignoring the stunned look on Molly’s face.

Sherlock Holmes was moving into _her_ building?

Mentally, she ran through all of her protective and privacy charms, determined to add a handful more after this jaunt through the woods.  He was far too nosy for his own good, and Toby was a sweet familiar, not a fierce guard cat.

Who was Watson?  She’d never known Sherlock to keep an acquaintance, maybe it was his lover?  She felt almost relieved, Sherlock being in a relationship would help kill her ardour for him.

Realizing she’d been quiet for too long, Mrs. Hudson looking at her expectantly, Molly blurted out, “I’m… acquainted with Holmes.  Sherlock, yes?” At her nod, Molly continued, “I don’t recognize the name of the second man, but if he’s a friend of Sherlock’s I’m sure he’ll be a remarkable tenant.  I really must be going, I don’t want to miss the sunset, I shall return in a week, maybe two!” Molly bound out of the open door to the crowded street below. Pausing on the last step, she turned back and nervously stuttered, “If… if Sherlock asks for access to my apartments, please do not grant it.  I… I would not be comfortable with such a thing.”

Mrs. Hudson looked shocked, “Of course not, darling, I would never condone such an inappropriate behavior!”  She waved at Molly one more time, exasperated, and shut the oaken door behind her.

Molly made a mental note to get her landlady a tin of nice tea when she got back.  With Sherlock living under her roof, she was going to need any sort of indulgence Molly could give her.

Her sensible brown leather boots carried her to Moriarty’s shop on muscle memory.  Her head was whirling with the implications of Sherlock moving into the same building as her.  The infuriating, handsome, eccentric man never did anything by accident, he was sending her some sort of message.  If he was doing this to try and catch her sneaking Moriarty into her bed, he was going to be waiting for the rest of his long, long life for that to happen.

If anything were to happen, she was very sure she was going to wind up in _his_ bed.  Or on his desk.  Or against the wall of his shop. Or-

Her musings were cut short when she realized she’d arrived.  Her feet had carried her over the threshold and Moriarty was at his desk, staring at her with one raised eyebrow.  She flushed, had he said something?

“Uh, hi.  What was it you said?”  She gave him a nervous smile.

“I didn’t say anything,” he said smoothly, and her lips immediately pulled down into a frown, “but I am veeeery curious to know what you were thinking about.”  The way he tilted his head and rested it on his palm, coupled with the knowing look in his eye made her question whether or not he could actually read her mind.

Before she could think better of it, she blurted out the truth, “Sherlock Holmes is moving into my building, and I think he’s doing it to try and catch us, ah, mid-coitus.”  She turned a brilliant red and covered her mouth immediately.

His sharp bark of laughter made her blush deepen, and he gave her a very seductive look, “And were you imagining us ‘mid-coitus’, Miss Hooper?  I couldn’t blame you if you were, I’ve spent a fair share of my time-”

She cut him off, “What time are we leaving?”  Fussing with the straps of her pack, she looked around and frowned, “Why aren’t you packed?”  Turning her eye back to him, she noticed he was in his normal finery, absolutely not something travel worthy.  “You don’t own proper clothes for walking through the woods?” She felt faintly annoyed. Convincing Browning to give her a few extra days off had been difficult, and she’d promised an extra essay on her findings to demonstrate the value of her journey.  Mike Stamford, who had recently finished his apprenticeship, had agreed to take over some of her day to day duties as a personal favor. The man got along well enough with Sherlock when he would barge in, and she was grateful for the reprieve. To think that Moriarty wasn’t taking this seriously rankled.

He didn’t say anything, simply smiling and pressing his index finger to his bottom lip.

Sucking in a deep breath through her nose, Molly exhaled and tried to remain calm and professional, “Moriarty, sir, it has come at a nominal personal cost for me to arrange to go on this sudden journey, and if you have decided to not go without telling me, I will consider it a violation of our contract!”  The mark on her wrist itched for a moment.

His eyes darkened and he lost his smile, “That almost sounded like a threat, Miss Hooper, but I’m sure I misheard.”  He snapped his fingers and a fine leather valise floated from a back room. “I’m very packed, and I won’t be traveling in such a mundane way as _walking,_ so my clothing hardly matters.  As for time, I believe we have at least a quarter of an hour before the need becomes pressing.  Moran had to settle an affair for me, so let me entertain you while we wait.” His voice had gotten dark and silky, and he fluttered his eyelashes at her.

Fortunately for Molly, Sebastian Moran was a consummate professional.  He neither lollygagged nor dawdled, and he’d performed the task Moriarty had set him cleanly, quietly, and quickly.  He stepped into the shop directly behind her, nonplussed at Moriarty’s suddenly annoyed face.

He tossed down a brass sphere he’d picked up to fiddle with, “You always ruin my fun, Sebastian.”

“Sorry, Boss,” he said flatly, clearly practiced at making useless, insincere apologies.

Molly tapped her fingers against the canvas strap of her bag and gave Sebastian a bland smile, “No bag?”  He had only his oversized grey cape and overlarge sword visible.

He stared at her for a minute longer than she was comfortable with before simply answering, “No.”  He sheathed his sword on his back and moved to stand behind Jim.

“Alright then,” she muttered under her breath, facing the two men with a raised eyebrow.

The longer they stood, awkwardly staring at each other in silence, the larger Jim’s grin grew on his face.  Sebastian’s heavy leather boots didn’t even creak, his heavy cape didn’t move, and Molly got the suspicion that Jim really liked awkward pauses.  She suddenly saw a lot more of these in her future as his employee, even as part time as she was.

As she rolled her eyes, he gave a flash of sharp teeth before snapping his fingers.  His golden chair lengthened, the wood groaning, and he propped his feet up as it turned into a plush palanquin.  A sunshade made of golden leaves sprouted, vines falling down to form a glittering curtain. The dragon’s eye spinel glowed, and the sphere pulsed twice before settling around the new shape of his seat.

Molly blinked twice and eyed the cushy looking velvet seat, “Is there room for two up there?”

He smirked at her, “Oh yes, of course,” he gave his thigh a gentle slap, “right here.  It’ll be quite… comfortable.” He purred the last word at her.

She immediately turned around and strode out the door, her face burning, “I’ll walk!”

His laughter followed her past the threshold.

 

* * *

 

Two miles into the forest, Molly was ready to pull Jim off of his cushy throne and into the mud.  He’d hooked a glowing tether into the middle of Moran’s back to direct the movement of the platform and leaned back, kicked up his feet, and for all needs and purposes appeared to be asleep.

Her boots were giving her spectacular blisters, she was sweating through her cloak, her pack was digging uncomfortably into her shoulders and he was _snoring._

Worst off, the sky was perfectly clear.  She’d brought her heavy oilcloth cape for _nothing._

She leaned down and scooped up a fair sized rock, eyeing the back of his head.  His barrier pulsed once, and Moran’s deep voice floated over to her, “I’d think twice about that if I were you.”  He was looking over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised, and his eyes flicked meaningfully to the rock in her hand. “That barrier is a threefold protection spell.  Whatever you try to do to him, it’s going to return to you. Either at three times the volume or power. I’ve seen it happen, and it can be messy. I’d rather not have to wake him to try and scoop your brains back into your skull, if you don’t mind.”

Wordlessly, she dropped the rock and showed him her empty hands, pursing her lips.

He nodded and murmured, “Wise choice.”  They kept following the wide dirt path dappled with dying light streaming through the leaves.  The sunset was making everything glow in shades of orange and gold, the sky above them starting to turn a twilight violet.  She tried to occupy her mind by identifying most of the plants along the path and running through their properties in her mind.

Moran pressed on, the glow from the threefold spell lighting their path.

Molly spoke again an hour later, carefully picking her way through the terrain.  The further north they went, the rockier and less worn it had become. Jim was still napping, his pavilion floating smoothly.  “Where are you from, Moran?”

“Nowhere,” he grunted back.

“Do… do you have any siblings?”  She was falling behind, the lack of tread on her boots causing her to slide a little on the loose gravel.

“No.”

“Any parents?”

“No.”

“What’s your-”

He whirled around, his cape flying behind him dramatically.  “I’m not going to make small talk. I won’t answer your questions, I won’t give you my life story, and more importantly, I’m not going to suddenly become your _friend.”_  He stepped closer to her, “If you’re trying to seduce me, forget about it.  I’m not interested, and the boss would cut my head off if I even considered it.”

“You’re right about that.”  Jim’s cold face was turned toward them, his dark eyes open and glittering in the faint golden light.  “Why aren’t we moving, Moran?”

The mercenary paused and looked between his boss and his new coworker.  “Just laying down some ground rules, Boss.”

Jim inclined his head, “As you were.  Hooper, come here.”

She fought to keep pace with the pavilion and Moran stomped ahead, his pace somehow much faster than before.  “Yes?” She was almost out of breath, struggling along next to him.

“Why,” he said softly, “were you talking to Moran?”

Molly turned her head to stare at him incredulously, not even caring that he’d started to smoothly pull ahead of her, “Maybe because he was the only other person awake and I’m bored?”  She fell behind, not bothering to try and keep up with Moran’s impossible pace. Was he _jealous?_

Jim called behind him, “Not allowed.  Now, keep up so I don’t have to find your corpse tomorrow morning, after you’ve died from exposure.”

Molly stuck her tongue out at his back and picked up her pace.

 

* * *

 

Deep into the dark, bordering on midnight, Molly gave up.

The moon was full, hanging ripe and yellow in the sky, but the path had gotten so treacherous that she stopped in the middle of the road, sat down on a fairly smooth rock, and ripped her left boot off.  Turning it upside down, she shook out a handful of small, sharp rocks and set it beside her. She ripped off her second boot, wool covered toes wiggling in the air, and then laid back gratefully on the cool stone, letting the icy chill seep into her back and soothe the sore muscles there.

She’d thought this trip would have been full of banter and flirting, Jim maybe giving her a lecture on the properties of the plants they’d passed, or at least tell her their street value.  Instead, it had been mostly awkward silence and labored breathing.

Molly closed her eyes and relaxed, determined to take a break.

Unfortunately for her, she fell asleep almost immediately.

When she woke up some hours later, when the sky was just starting to lighten from black velvet to deep violet, the tinges of periwinkle at the edges of the horizon, she was sprawled on the floating platform.  Subsequently, she was also cuddled up next to Jim Moriarty. By the look of things, he’d widened the platform and gave her plenty of room for herself, but she’d rolled over and thrown one leg on top of his, winding an arm around his torso, and resting her head on his shoulder.

She’d wound herself around him tighter than a sunshine strangler vine.

Molly blushed, mortified.  She’d always been a cuddler, and she’d never hated it as much as she did right now.  His hands were conspicuously folded on his belly, not touching her, and his eyes were dark, glittering slits in the faint light, trained on her.

“Good morning, bright one,” he purred, his dulcet tones rough from sleep, and Molly’s blush turned into an inferno of embarrassment.

“Good morning,” she squeaked out, quickly extracting herself and scooting over.  He just smiled and slowly crossed one leg over the other.

She turned her eyes forward and her eyebrows nearly soared off her forehead.  They were miles away from where they had been, and Moran’s gait hadn’t wavered.  “Is he a machine?” she whispered under her breath, annoyed.

“Berserker, actually,” Jim chirped, sitting up slowly.

“ _What?”_ Molly whipped her head between them in disbelief.  Berserkers were dangerous creatures, demons occupying the dead bodies of soldiers on the battlefield.  They could make a dead man fight until his physical body collapsed, then possess their weapons to curse anyone who wielded them.  Being so close to one filled her with a primal panic and made a cold sweat break out along her brow.

Moran just looked behind her with one serious, expressionless blue eye before continuing his even gait across the rough terrain.

“Yep!”  Jim was entirely too thrilled with her discomfort, “Found him when he was a kid.  He’s not dead, not really, but he’ll fight to the death if I tell him to. A rogue berserker killed his family and then possessed him.”  Jim beamed at him, “We grew up together. He’s still a mercenary and draws a salary, but I’m the only one who’s ever hired him.”

Molly had no idea what to say.  The sudden reality of being in the middle of nowhere with a berserker and an underground mob boss hit her like a bag of bricks and she felt cold.

They could leave her body in a ditch and nobody would be the wiser for a very long time.

They could just keep her wrent cape, spatter it with blood, and say the dragon ate her.

Molly comforted herself that if she did die, Mrs. Hudson would feed her cat and that was that.

The black binding on her wrist flared to life, burning for a moment, and Jim looked over at her knowingly.  “I’m not going to kill you, Molly Hooper.” He fluttered his eyelashes at her, “You’re so much fun, and it would be a waste of a beautiful woman.”  He exposed his own wrist and matching band, “Besides, it’s a direct violation of our contract.”

He didn’t wait for her reaction before he pulled a weathered parchment map out of his bag, unfolding it carefully and snapping his fingers to make it float in mid air.  It hovered, gently bobbing, before him.

Giving a complicated motion of his fingertips, the map rotated to lay flat and the topography rose up, creating a three dimensional view of the area the map was depicting.

“We,” he murmured, “are here.”  He pointed, and a little trio of golden dots appeared clustered together on the map, halfway up a mountain.  They moved steadily upwards, the same pace as Moran.

“The dragon nest,” he used two fingers to draw a triangle in midair, breathing on the lines left behind, a section of map glowing blue, “should be there.”

The golden dots and blue tinted hillside were hardly a scant inch apart, and Molly found herself holding her breath.

Suddenly, Moran stopped.  The palanquin barely swayed at the abrupt pause in its inertia.  He stooped down, scooping something up off the ground, and gruffly said, “Boss.”

He held up two fingers, held between them was a dusty blue scale, it’s delicately frilled edges bent and one large crack down the middle, but Molly felt a zing of adrenaline run through her.  Jim nodded at her, tilted his head at Moran, and the larger man gently set the scale into her palm.

“Now,” she said, her voice filling with excitement, flipping the scale over and over in her palm, “we have to make sure it’s genuine.  This isn’t a lapis lazuli wyvern scale, that’s for sure, but it could be a lesser species of wyrm, a blue agate, and the only way to check is…”

Molly dug through her bag, pulling out stacks of books and a ream of parchment before unearthing the same small jar that she’d brought to Moriarty’s ship that first time.  She held it up triumphantly, the waning hellfire inside sluggishly moving around. “They’re almost dispelled,” she whispered, “but there’s just enough left to look one more time.”

She held the scale up to the ultraviolet light, her magical affiliation tattoos burning white hot and thrumming with power, and there, set in the center despite the crack, was the characteristic star shaped reflection.  She tilted the scale back and forth, watching the star follow the light, before the hellfire gave a sigh and winked out of existence.

In the light of the threefold protection spell, the scale looked a dull blue-ish grey, but Molly was beaming.

Without her realizing it, Moriarty had slid in right beside her, his chest pressed into her arm, his thigh laid out alongside hers, and his arms sliding around her to cage her in.

“You,” he said it in a way that was deep, hungry, and full of a dark desire, “are so…”  He didn’t finish the thought as he leaned in and caught her mouth with his, Molly’s grip tightening on the glass jar and scale to the point that her knuckles were white.

It was a kiss full of promise, the way his lips teased hers open, his tongue sliding into her, the lean of his body forcing her to tilt backwards.  She responded instinctively, biting down lightly on his lower lip, drawing a moan out of him. There was something heady in the air, something in the growing twilight that felt heavy and dampened her senses to anything but him.

Moran had started moving again, and the gentle sway of the palanquin as Moriarty snapped his fingers and the golden vines fell down around them again, soothed Molly in a way that when he put his hand on her shoulder to push her down gently, she didn’t resist at all.  If anything, she brought her arms up to twine them around his neck and arched her back into his chest.

A high pitched roar that ended in an angry, shrill scream echoed around the rocky landscape, stopping them immediately.  Dragon nest. Moriarty pulled back, his dark eyes heavy lidded, and Molly knew her mouth was swollen from his kisses as his gaze caught on her lips.

She held up the blue triangle, “It’s breeding season,” she whispered.  “There’s residual hormones in the air and on the scale.” She had absolutely not anticipated that the hormones would be effective on humans, but she made a mental note to jot it down in her theoretical texts.

Whatever quip Moriarty was going to make back was swallowed by another dragon shriek, this one much closer, and Moran stopped in his tracks.  “Boss,” he said, loudly, as Moriarty and Molly untangled themselves.

In front of them was the lower half of a man, clearly ripped apart, in a puddle of blood.  A bright glitter of scale shards surrounded him, and Moran nodded at the sword, dropped haphazardly off to the side.

Molly felt her vision go white hot, and she furiously hissed, “ _Poachers."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, get ready for some action!


	3. Practical Knowledge

Molly pushed Moriarty back firmly.  He didn’t protest as she wiggled down off the palanquin.  Her skirt rode up to expose a fair amount of calf and one delicate kneecap, but he didn’t notice.  The air around her was practically crackling with magic, her hair frizzing up with the excessive energy.  She let the cracked scale fall to the ground, and he twitched his smallest finger. The scale popped out of existence right before it hit the ground, reappearing quietly in his pocket.  He could display it in his private office, as a reminder of this delightful little sojourn.

“You might want to calm down,” he called after her, tone deliberately bored, “Before you make something explode.”

In response, a frisson of bright blue magic skipped painfully along his skin.  He shook it off casually and expanded his shielding spell to envelop Moran. If she did lose control, he couldn’t afford to lose his most valuable asset.  The amount of uncontrolled power rolling off of her now was almost as heady as the hormones had been, and he idly wondered how in the world she had managed to hide all of that from him in the first place.  The tattoos had given him a hint, of course, but this… this was new.

Said magical affiliation tattoos were lighting up unevenly, flickering, some lines a dark purplish-blue, some whorls white hot.  She knelt down, the hem of her traveling cloak and roughspun skirts absorbing blood, and she examined the remains coldly.

“This was done by the dragon,” she said at length, and some of her magic dissipated in relief, “and if the pattern of these scales is anything to go by, it might still be alive.  There’s a fang or two in here, and the pattern of the tissue damage and way these bones are broken suggests this wasn’t done quickly. He was chewed on for a while first.” Moriarty delighted in the satisfaction in her tone, a dangerous smile curling up on his face.

“I love it when you talk bodies to me, Hooper,” He murmured, and fluttered his eyelashes when she threw him a faintly disgusted look.

Not deigning to give him a response, she turned back and shook her hand.  A glittering glove of magic laid next to her skin, preventing her from touching the scales directly as she scooped up a handful of them and flipped them over, studying quietly.  “The cracked one was old,” she said to herself, and a scroll levitated out of her bag, with a quill, and started jotting down her notes. The move was second nature, Jim observed, and she no longer needed any outward motion to trigger the spell.  She continued, her world narrowing to the scene in front of her, “It was safe to handle, most of the toxins had leached out. These are very fresh. Minutes old, if I had to guess. And…” she shook her second hand, a second glove materializing, “These are…” She frowned, holding one scale up and staring at the delicately frilled edge.

She stood up, and Jim immediately noticed that she’d slid into a tidy, professional frame of mind that instantly wrapped her magic back under control.  Her hair laid down flat, the tattoos were white at her fingertips, going duller down to the middle of her forearm, and if he had to hazard to guess under her sleeves, disappeared at her elbow.  “These are not surface scales. I’ve not gotten to really study the anatomy of this particular subspecies, but based on what I do know of the carnelian wyrm I was allowed to dissect in my first semester of study, these are subdermal scales.  Immature, but like shark teeth, ready to grow and come to the surface of the skin should others be damaged. These must have come from very deep in the dermis, they’re nowhere near ready for-” Molly closed her mouth with a click of teeth.

Her eyes slid slowly, deliberately, back to the man on the ground, and Jim felt his blood race faster at the growing anger on her face.  He wanted to see her mad, he wanted to see her furious, and half of him was very upset this man was no longer alive. He was willing to bet her pathology skillset would make her a fair hand at interrogation.  Of course, being so unpracticed, she would probably push it over into torture, but he could just correct her next time.

He rubbed his fingers together, debating the amount of energy needed to bring that man back to life.

“Can you get that sword for me?” She called over her shoulder, not even turning to look at him.

He paused, one eyebrow raising up.  “It’s… right there. At your feet. Just grab it.”

She turned her head and shot him a painfully annoyed look.  “These scales show evidence of acid. Some of the frills are- It doesn’t matter!  Just levitate it so I can get a closer look!” She sent him a poisonous glare, and he blew her a kiss.  As he did, a wisp of glittering golden magic streamed out between his lips. It wound its way through the air, lifting the sword up and hovering it at eye level for Molly.  It slowly rotated in the air, and her eyes scanned the blade thoughtfully. She hummed, frowning, and slowly said, “They’re not… I don’t know what they’re doing. This type of acid is too damaging, the scales that come into contact with it are ruined.  You can’t sell them. It’s not strong enough to give enough bite to cut through a dragon so easily, either. It would need to sit in the body for a while to work through. What-”

There was another scream, high and fierce, from the direction of the nest.

Molly dismissed her glove, dropping the scale, the scroll automatically rolled up and slipped back into her bag, and she was pushing through the brush before Moriarty could stop her.  His face went white and he snapped his fingers. A cloud of glitter held him aloft while the palanquin compressed itself into the giant spinel. Moran immediately went to flank Jim, hand on his sword.

“Follow her,” he sighed, rubbing between his brows.  The spinel popped into his pocket, and he closed his eyes, concentrating.  He heard Moran push through the bushes, and he formed a circle with his hands, the fingertips barely touching, keeping a part of his mind on the sigil he’d tattooed into Moran’s back, and another part on the contract marking on Molly’s wrist.  With a deep breath, he wove a net between his palms, a complicated web of protection and shielding spells, and with a grunt of effort, he cast the net out, catching Molly and Moran in it, enveloping himself as an afterthought. Eyes still closed, he ran his mind along the seams, sealing them closed and pressing against potential soft spots.  He wasn’t surprised at his own competence, one large shield instead of three smaller ones was a larger price to pay, but it ensured he could find any member of his party with hardly any effort later.

He opened his eyes and blinked.  The world seemed brighter in the early dawn, the grass greener and the scales at his feet almost impossibly blue.  The magic pulsed once, twice, and then sank down into invisibility.

Moriarty put a mud-repelling charm on his shoes as a reflex before slicing his hand down.  The bushes and trees sighed as he put them under a spell, bending out of his way. They vibrated to obey him, his magic compelling their submission.  Right now, he commanded that not a twig brush his bespoke suit. The supple branches bent back as far as they could without snapping, leaves folding back out of his way.  Soothingly, and in recompense, he repaired any crushed leaves or snapped twigs Molly and Moran had caused in their inelegant tromping through the undergrowth.

As soon as he’d released the spell and everything rustled back into place, the only indications the party had been there at all were a few disturbed scales and misplaced rocks.

Moriarty stalked through the undergrowth like a cat, all light feet and sharp, glowing eyes, until the netting of magic contracted suddenly.  It practically picked him up and tossed him through the air, setting him down heavily next to Moran, who was struggling to contain the timebomb the was Molly Hooper.  He was trying to restrain her with his cloak, but her magic was burning through the protection charms Jim had woven into it. The skin on his arms was starting to sustain damage, and Jim raised one eyebrow.

She was _enraged_ , her hair having exploded out of its tight braid, whipping around her face like snakes caught in an invisible windstorm.  Her tattoos were all glowing white-blue, he could see their exact placement through the weave of her dress, they were so bright.  To his great pleasure, he saw that they went down the entire length of her body. Her eyes had gone wild, the tiny capillaries in her sclera bursting and her irises glowing gold.  Her lips were peeled back from her teeth, and she was spitting sparks. Curiously, there was no sound leaving her throat.

At their feet was a broken strip of wood, a series of runes engraved on it, and Jim toed it gently.  A silencing spell, designed for Sebastian to use on assignment, requiring no magic to activate. He’d created and executed it, but this had not been the intended use of the magic.  It must have been stopping all of the verbal spells she was trying to scream out. A part of him was surprised her magic hadn’t canceled out the basic magic. She was an inferno of rage right now, and some of the flora closest to her was starting to smoke.

“Can you do something about this?”  Moran grunted at him, the iron bands of his arms tightening around her torso.  She gave another silent screech and grappled against him.

“That depends,” he said slowly, tilting his head at an angle that would be more at home on an owl than a human, “on what set our dear pathologist on this path.”

“The poachers,” he said, narrowly avoiding getting a foot kicked back into his groin, “took the dragonlings out of their eggs.  Cracked em open and scooped them out. According to her, the male is dead, and the female is caught in a stasis spell. A strong one, whoever cast it is at least your level.  At _least_ , Boss.”  She arched her back and he fought to get her under his control again, “I’m holding her back from confronting them, she was ready to go out there and lay waste.”

“And she looks fearsome now, but she can’t fight anyone like me,” Jim responded thoughtfully, finally turning to survey the clearing in the thicket that the mated pair had decided to nest in.

There was one dragon, barely full-grown from her size, drawn up to her extravagant height.  She was caught in a loop, her body twitching over and over again as the spell worked to keep her frozen in time.  She was beautiful, all sinewy lines and bright blue scales that lightened to cornflower at her belly and darkened to midnight at her spine.  Her claws were all business, extended and wickedly sharp. Her wings flared out behind her, easily tripling her size at first glance, and there was the beginning of a spark of white-hot flame spewing from her mouth.  Maybe flame, maybe lightning, he amended as he studied the tableau. To keep such a beast, especially one so young and incredibly strong, snared in a spell like that… there were only a small handful of sorcerers he knew of that could do such a thing, himself included.

Her mate, the male, obvious from his enlarged horns protruding from his skull, was laid out at the edge of the clearing.  He was bleeding sluggishly from dozens of smoking gashes, the acid clearly having worked is way through his system. It had burned out his organs, maybe, all of his hearts or even his lungs.  Of course, if it had dissolved his veins first, he simply would have filled up with blood where it wasn’t supposed to be and collapsed. What a terrible way to die. Jim’s face grew colder as he quickly caught on to what would have turned Molly halfway into the struggling elemental behind him.

The babies.  The eggs. There was a team of men, clothed similarly to the parts they’d seen on the road, efficiently cracking open the shells, inspecting the contents, drawing the mewling babes out and setting them neatly into a cart that had been backed up into the clearing.  The horses at the helm had been ensorcelled to feel no fear, he could smell that particular enchantment from here, but that was not the most unusual part. They were workhorses, strong, sturdy, with heavy feathering around the fetlock, but they were not a common breed.  These were _royal_ workhorses, their coats a particular shade of snow-white and a very obvious brand stamped into their hindquarters.

The crown was behind this?

Interesting.

He turned on his heel, staring at Molly and Moran.  “Hold her as still as you can,” he said quietly, “I’ll have to put a dampener on her magic, it’ll render her nearly useless.  You’ll have to protect her.” His face grew solemn, and Moran looked confused.

“Boss, then, who is going to-”

“Just hold her still,” he commanded softly, raising his hands up into a diamond shape, his thumbs pointed towards the ground.  He closed his eyes, ignoring the magic storming behind him, concentrating on the whirl of a woman in front of him.

She screamed at him, eyes flashing white, and he vaguely noticed that in the time it took him to assess the situation, she’d set Moran’s cape ablaze and was very nearly giving him second-degree burns.  Her potential was incredible. Her ability to mask the depth of her power was astounding. If he’d been interested before, he was smitten now. He held the diamond shape straight in front of him, framing her face, and gently chanted the spell.

He felt it get its hooks in her.  He forced it to spread through her like a disease, shutting off every magical pathway, and he watched her tattoos dim as he did so.  Within a minute, he had forced her power to go dormant inside of her, and he lowered his hands as her eyes faded back to brown. Moran’s grip on her never wavered.  She was confused, her hair hanging in tangles around her face, and belatedly he realized the silencing spell was still active. It would wear off in due time, he decided.

“I can’t hear you,” he cut off whatever she was asking him, and she froze.  “There’s a spell. You went supernova, dear, and almost blew us all up. Don’t worry, I temporarily shut your magic off and Moran will keep you safe.”

Her face went from white to a very unflattering shade of puce, and she hissed something at him that he knew wasn’t a compliment.

Moriarty held up one hand, his posture perfect, and he looked at her from under lowered brows, “I know,” he intoned, his voice serious, “that you don’t understand how monumentus it is that I haven’t killed you outright.  You’ll learn, later, and I’ll accept your apology then. For now, let Daddy take care of it.”

Without waiting for a reaction from either of them, he spun sharply, snapped his fingers and the brambles in front of him parted just enough to let him step through, then wove together into a tight barrier as soon as he was clear.  As an afterthought, he extended his enchantment on the plants over the rest of the clearing and surrounding forest.

If any fighting broke out, they would provide enough cover for Moran to get Hooper out of the way.

As it was, the poachers all froze in their work, one of them holding a fussing newborn dragonling, and stared at him.

“Hello boys,” he said cheerfully, feeling a dangerous smile slide across his face.  It had been too long since he’d fought off a gang of men, the magic under his skin was yearning for their blood.  Usually, he’d let Moran deal with it, but this time... None of them moved, but all of them were delightfully tense.  “I don’t suppose any of _you_ happen to be the sorcerer who cast _that_ ,” his voice smoothed out and his eyes slid over to the mother dragon.

One of them started blinking quickly, and another started shaking in his boots.  The one who had been tapping on the last egg in the nest slowly stood and drew his sword in a fluid motion.

“I didn’t think so,” he murmured to himself, and without warning, he threw his arms wide and tightened his hold on the spell binding all of the plants to his will.  Instantly, the opening in front of the cart closed off, all of the briars writhed and tightened. The spell on the horses started to loosen, they stamped their hooves uneasily, ears flicking back and forth.

He pulled everything _down_ , thickening the fibers, making them swell and be near impossible to cut through, sinking the spell deep into the soil and tethering it there.  Before he’d fully let it go, he’d already built a cloud of magic inside of him, seamlessly releasing it with a wave of his fingers as he came up.  It sped over to the dragonlings, grabbing the last egg and snatching the wiggling one out the hands of the poacher, encapsulating them in a glowing bubble that hovered just under the treeline at the center of the clearing.

It all happened before the man with his sword drawn could even charge him.

Jim smirked at them, tilted his head to the side, and slowly steepled his fingers under his chin.  “Now,” he said calmly, “you can’t leave.” He pulled his index fingers apart, a thread of gold magic sparkling between them, and continued, “Tell me who cast that spell.”

The man at the ready held sword up and started to run at Jim, predictably, snarling wordlessly, and Jim’s smile widened as he pulled his fingers apart even further.  The thread vibrated with tension, growing brighter than anything so small had a right to be. He allowed the soldier to get within striking distance, then gently tapped his fingers back together.  There was a brilliant spark, a smell of ozone, and it made everyone flinch.

When they looked again, there was a cloud of yellow butterflies where the man had been.  His sword had bounced onto the ground, clattering against a stray rock, and the butterflies fluttered out of their man-shaped formation, dispersing around the meadow.  “I’m stronger than your employer,” he gestured and tapped his fingers back together. His eyes narrowed. “Tell me who cast the spell.”

The rest of the men suddenly seemed to be reconsidering the limits of their loyalty to their employment.  A butterfly landed on one of them, and his eyes went very wide. That sort of magic was very, very illegal, but who there to see?  There was a strong implication that if they didn’t play their cards right, there wouldn’t be anybody left to file a report against this man.  He used this level of magic, of energy, so casually, and he wasn’t even mussed. Another hesitantly drew his sword, looking at the men around him to see if they were going to rush this strange, dark little man together.  Everyone else looked away, and he slowly resheathed it with a click.

One of them, sharp looking with bored eyes, stepped forward.  “Sir Holmes,” he said simply and held up a white square of cardstock.  It was embossed with a glossy black ink and had gilt edges. Jim rotated one hand down and extended his little finger.  The card wormed its way out of the soldier’s grip, floating through the air between them to land perfectly upright on the tip of Jim’s finger.

He held it up and smiled.  “The Ice Man, not the Virgin.  How terribly interesting. I do know, however, that it was not _him_ who cast this particular spell.  The taste of the residue is all wrong.  It was that little powerhouse he keeps all docile at his side.  His little pet. Anthea.”

He wiggled his little finger and the card vanished.  He clasped his hands together in front of him and studied the men, lined up so neatly, an automatic formation.  How cute.

The man who given him the card raised his eyebrow and they stared at each other for a heartbeat.  “Can we-” he started to ask, and the question was cut short as Jim casually made a throwing motion with one hand, the other going down to rest at his lower back in a very polite manner.  A spray of sharp spikes, varying shades of yellow, flew at the soldiers in a flurry. Each one found a home in the flesh of a man, deep in a vital organ, and Jim took one step forward. The horses nickered nervously, and he waved his hand down in a pacifying spell.  They shook their manes out and calmed.

“I do apologize,” he smiled genially, “but you upset my part-time quality control agent something fierce.  I can’t have that, now can I?” The men all looked at him, shocked, and as one, they all fell as if their spines had been snapped.  Those spikes were a favorite of his, one pulse of magic and it meant instant death. Jim sighed and tilted his head, “Explosions are more my style, less to clean up, more fun, but I suppose I can do something about this little mess.”  None of the men responded, of course, but it was helpful for him to voice his thoughts aloud from time to time. He heard a rustling behind him, but ignored it. The brambles wouldn’t let anyone through unless he told them to.

He considered the dragon that lay dead at the edge of the clearing, the mother still caught in the loop, and the babies still hovering in a mewling mass above them both.  Tapping his fingers against the fine fabric of his pants for a second, Jim considered letting the dragon just eat the soldiers. Protein. Tidy. But then that would encourage her to eat more men, and while that might get him an underhanded contract to deal with the problem, it might upset Miss Hooper something fierce.

A frown pulled on the edges of his mouth as he considered that.

The fact that he thought about what might upset Miss Hooper at all.

Dismissing the thought, Jim made a fast decision and clapped his hands twice, in rapid succession.  The sound of his palms slapping together reverberated in his ears, sounding more like cut crystal being smashed against stone, the magic dispersing every which way.

The flesh of the men sank out of their clothes, and he flicked his fingers up to bring their personal trappings up to hover above the ground.  Prodded by his sorcery, a bed of flowers began to grow. Yellow, pink, white, some sprays of blue and violet, the men who died became food for the man who had turned into butterflies, and they swarmed the little patch with a ferocity he wouldn’t have expected out of such a delicate insect.

Humming a tune under his breath, some waltz he half-remembered from his childhood, Jim reached down into the soil once more, plucking the strings to where Moran and Hooper were hiding.  The briars pulled back, just a bit, and two curious faces peeped out at him.

He sent them both a bland smile, and Molly said cautiously, “That was… fast.”

Moran grunted and pushed past her, “Boss is efficient.”

Ah.  The rustling must have been the silencing spell dispersing.  He hadn’t figured out how to keep the rush of air more contained yet.  Such a simple spell, there wasn’t really that much to work with.

“What… did you do?”  She asked, looking around.  The meadow was beautiful, and she hadn’t remembered those flowers before.  A pair of butterflies fluttered around her head, and she smiled.

“Daddy took care of it,” he said rakishly, throwing her a wink.  An instant later, he snapped his fingers and the personal effects of the soldiers hovered before her, and the dragonlings and remaining egg were deposited neatly back into the nest from whence they came.  The energy drain was starting to pull at the backs of his eyes, and he felt a grumble from his stomach.

Wordlessly, Moran handed him an apple and a pocket knife.

Molly pushed her hair out of her face and studied the uniforms.  She, wisely, didn’t ask about the fate of what had previously occupied them.  “Can you restore my magic?” She called over her shoulder. Her eyes were fixed on all of the little pouches, “I don’t know what’s in these and I want my shielding spells.”  She’d already reached into her bag, pulling out her gloves, and Jim took an enormous bite of his apple.

“Not at this particular time,” he said around the mouthful of flesh, waving his free hand in the air, “I’m a little low on power.”  He shifted his wave into a flap and everything flew into the back of the cart.

She hummed, slightly annoyed, before going to look at the carcass of the male.  She studied it in silence for several minutes before scoffing in disgust, “I can’t use any of these, I don’t need magic to tell me that.  They’re all tainted. The body will be completely melted in an hour, maybe less.” She ripped off her gloves in annoyance, stuffing them back into her bag, before stalking over to inspect the dragonlings.  She kept her distance, hands behind her back, and called over, “I only study these creatures for their parts, but these look healthy enough to me. They’re alert, a little undersized, but I’m sure their mother will know what to do.”  She frowned and looked up, the dragon right above her, and to Moriarty’s great arousal, displayed no fear. “How are we going to…” She let her thought trail off, eyes roving over the beast.

Moriarty finished the apple, gently peeling the seeds out of the core and tossing them around the clearing, before wrapping the remains in a cloth and tucking it back into his pocket.  The fruit had given him a little boost of energy, not a lot, and he was going to fall asleep after his last big gesture. At his nod, Moran went to retrieve the cart. The horses responded to his touch, and Jim sleepily appreciated the high step in their gait.  He blinked slowly, holding up one hand, and the spinel floated out of his pocket.

His palanquin unfolded before his eyes, and he absently tinkered with the spell, having it draw some energy from Moran instead of himself, and anchored it above the bed of the cart.  He gratefully floated up, allowing his magic to drop him abruptly onto his soft pillows.

“Miss Hooper,” he called, and she turned to look at him.  She was instantly taken aback, she hadn’t noticed the palanquin unfolding at all.

Moran took his place at the front of the cart, reins in hand, and Molly stepped closer.  She looked uncertainly between the empty spot next to Moran and the still-enlarged bed of the palanquin.  Jim made the decision for her, his eyes closed, and he patted the space next to him. “Until your magic returns,” he murmured, “you are going to stay right next to me.”

She accepted Moran’s hand to help her up without a protest, feeling hellishly weak and small without her magic, and she felt the three-fold protection barrier wrap around her like a blanket.  She didn’t want to examine her sudden trust of Moriarty too closely, didn’t want to think about the fact that she didn’t even hesitate to fold up on the soft pillows, and half-expected him to curl his arm around her waist.  He didn’t reach out to touch her, but he didn’t move away from her close body heat either.

As soon as she was settled, Moran directed the horses to where the opening in the briars had been.  “I’m going to release the spell, Sebby, and you need to get us out of here as fast as possible. Miss Hooper and I are stable.”

He nodded, hands tensing on the reins.  Molly instinctively clutched her bag to her and pressed her self down into the pillows.  She wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but she got the feeling it was going to be abrupt.

The space between Jim’s brow furrowed and he closed his large, dark eyes, holding up one hand.  He made a fist, and Molly thought she heard the whine of taut string being pulled past its breaking point, and then he slammed the fist down on the palanquin and she felt a great woosh of air rush past her.  She hadn’t even noticed that the trees had been slightly bent down, the bushes and briars unnaturally tight, but at his motion, they all released their tension. Everything in the forest moved, waving back into its rightful position, and the briars in front of them sprung back suddenly, creating an open path that Moran instantly set the horses upon.

They started out at a light trot, but he quickly worked them into a full gallop.  “Boss,” he called back, struggling to control the cart, “The terrain is too much. We’re going to-” he grunted as one of the horses slid, screeching, and he pulled to right it before forcing it back to the punishing speed.  “We’re going to lose this damn cart and kill both beasts at this rate!” For the first time, she heard an inflection akin to annoyance in his voice.

“One more minute, Sebby,” Jim sang, his eyes still closed, but she could see them moving back and forth under his lids.  She wished then, strongly, for her magic, so she could feel what it was he was doing.

Her training was so specialized, so focused on Pathology and the arts of the dead, and for the first time, she felt like she was really seeing what her training was lacking.  Jim was doing something _big_ , she knew that, and all of her longed to be able to reach out and feel what it was.

With a groan, he sat up, eyes still closed, and faced backward.  He reached out with both hands and made a complicated sigil with his fingers, his breathing quickening, and with one huge gust of air from his lungs, he blew a bunch of blinding white magic in the air.  It looked like seeds, she realized, the puffy ones that often thickened the air during late spring, and she had to blink to clear the burning from her corneas.

Jim had fallen down, limbs akimbo, and she heard a very welcome, but very terrifying sound.

The fierce scream of a female dragon, finally free from her time loop, and it sounded not nearly far enough away.

Moran pulled back on the reins, giving the horses a much more maintainable speed, and turned them down an alternate path on the mountain.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t look back at either one of them, and Molly couldn’t help but clutch her bag tighter and stare at the most powerful wizard she’d ever met.  She was tempted to reach out and arrange him in a more comfortable position, but there was still wild magic sparking between his fingertips and along his dark strands of hair.  She had no way to shield herself from it.

It wasn’t for a few more minutes that she realized she’d completely forgotten to grab any scales at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even you have your limits, Jim. Next up, who wanted those dragons and what were they going to do with those babies?


	4. Peer Review

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's been a long time since I updated this bad boy, I realized. Enjoy the latest adventures of magic!Molly and Jim!

An hour later and Jim still hadn’t woken.  The dragon clearly wasn’t going to follow them and Moran had slowed the horses down to a sustainable trot, his expressionless eyes peering back at her every so often.  Jim’s head lolled in time to the smooth gait of the horses, half on a cushion and half pressed against the magical barrier that kept him from falling off completely. She was afraid of touching him, afraid of whatever the after effect of errant, uncontrolled magic might be, but there hadn’t been any sparks for at least a half-hour.

Cautiously, Molly put one hand out and placed it gently on his arm.  Nothing came up to zap her, but her fingers did tingle unpleasantly. She pressed her fingertips into the thick fabric of his jacket slightly firmer, debating shaking him awake.

Moran pulled the cart to a complete stop.  “Don’t touch the boss.” His voice was part annoyance and all warning.  He grabbed his sword, but left it in the sheath.

He swung himself out of the front seat, charred cloak floating behind him, and held the reins tightly in one hand.  He pulled the horses over to a small waterfall, and they both wickered at him before shoving their speckled muzzles under the spray.  Moran’s eyes never left her, and she withdrew her hand. A slight residue of magic followed her fingers.

“I just wanted to see if I could adjust him.  I didn’t-”

“I don’t care.”  His voice had retreated to hard flintiness, and his lips pulled back into a grimace.  “Boss pays me to make sure he doesn’t get touched.” He started to efficiently wipe sweat off of the powerful hindquarters of the horse closest to him.

Molly looked at him incredulously.  “I… we… were you there? This morning?  Didn’t you-”

“That was then.  This is now. Boss is particular about his space.  I’ll do you one favor and not mention that you tried it.  Carrying your corpse home would be annoying, and Boss would likely want to take in your cat out of some fit of idle responsibility.  I don’t want fur on my clothes.” His cast his eyes down her own traveling dress that still bore a few strands of Tobias.

Molly pursed her lips and lifted both hands in the air, wiggling her fingers.  “He said to stay next to him until my powers come back. Any idea when that’ll be?”  She hoped the change of subject would distract him.

All he did was grunt and start checking the hind hooves of the second horse for errant stones.  “No. He’s never waited to see when it wears off.” He pried one smooth oblong piece out and tossed it into the road.

She blinked and settled herself back on the palanquin, “Oh, he’s done this sort of spell before?  Did you happen to watch him reverse it?”

“I didn’t say he reversed it,” Moran lifted his sword and raised his eyebrow.

She felt sick.  Oh. Of course. She knew that Moriarty was more than a illicit magical substance salesman, Sherlock had been interested in him for a very specific reason, but she hadn’t really understood what it meant.  Leader of some kind of violent underground network. He had Moran at his side, had an expensive, energy draining threefold spell surrounding him at all times, had that calculating look in his eye for a _reason_.  He killed people.  He’d killed that man, the man who’d caused them to go on this adventure, with her advice.  With her _help._

No matter how she thought about it, the fine-boned, delicate looking man next to her was not a good one.

And she’d kissed him.

She would have done more, if not-

“Stop thinking,” Moran grunted, coming around to the side.  He held out a small metal bag, the fine metal mesh sparkling in the indirect light.  “Boss told me to collect these. For you.”

Two fingers clutched the pale silk ribbon woven through the loops at the top, and she opened it very slightly.

It was full of clean, perfect, bright blue scales.

 

* * *

 

They took a longer, more meandering route back.  Molly sat in the shade of the palanquin with the silent, still body of Moriarty and didn’t bother asking why Moran kept ducking them through ill-maintained side trails.  They couldn’t abandon the horses and couldn’t walk through the front gates in broad daylight with them.

Rough, rocky canyon gave way to scrubby little bushes that that quickly turned lush and vibrant, clay-like road turning into well-packed earth that rode smoother and was dotted with little blades of grass.  Trees sprouted up and their branches arched out, greedily eating all of the sun and dappling light onto the clustered pockets of greens that blossomed below. The mountainous landscape had turned into a valley that had an audible water source, though however Molly strained to find the glitter of a creek or river on the horizon, she couldn’t spot it.

“Stop,” the command was obeyed instantly, and Molly blinked down in surprise.  Jim laid out next to her, face smooth, and eyes staring upward. He’d woken without a sound, without a stretch, without any movement at all.  For a reason she struggled to understand, that made Molly very nervous on a primitive level. Moran pulled the horses over to the side of the road, where they eagerly started to nip at some of the grass and little yellow flowers that were growing tightly together.

“Boss,” Moran acknowledged.  “What do you need?”

“Food,” was his soft, immediate reply, and he sat up languidly.  Moran started digging in his own pack. “But I smell royal lilac.”  He turned to look at her expectantly, and Molly found herself tongue tied.  He wanted her to finish his thought, come to a conclusion, and he wanted her to- He was _testing_ her, she realized, but there was only one problem.

She knew what that was, it was a common enough plant, but she hadn’t known at all that there was a magical purpose for it.

After a heartbeat, then two, the corners of his mouth turned down in disappointment.  “I will have to rectify your magical education.” he murmured. He sighed and continued, “Royal lilac is valued for its scent, and the effect its pollen has in some fertility charms and potions.  It also attracts the glasswing butterfly.”

“Those are incredibly rare,” Molly blurted out, then blushed.  Both royal lilac and glasswing butterflies were useless in either necromancy or pathology, and as a result all she knew were basic statistics any commoner could suss out.  He gave her a tight smile and didn't wait for her to elaborate.

“Correct.”  He swung his legs down and bounced on the balls of his feet a few times.  “Want to hazard a guess at what they’re useful for?” He stretched his arms up over his head and she followed the long line of his back with her eyes.  Moran found another apple and gently tossed it to Jim, who started to eat it with tidy bites.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”  She swung her own legs over the side of the palanquin and slid down softly.

“I know,” he snapped, his mood swinging violently.  He took a great bite of the apple and chewed viciously.  “I wanted you to _guess._  To show me you’re capable of reasonable thought and deduction.  How can you be a useful quality control agent if you only think about components that are necessary to whatever project is right in front of you?  So far, all you’ve done is be rather _impressive_ with plotting murder and keeping my own from getting _killed_ by a bunch of _scales._  You’re still untrained, still able to lose control with your _emotions,_ and you’re _wasting my time._ ”

He’d come around the palanquin, stalking her, and she found herself pressed up against a large, smooth-barked beech tree, Jim snarling in her face.  He threw the apple core into the woods with no small amount of force, then slammed both of his hands beside her head and trapped her. Moran stood by the horses, barely paying attention.

“Children.” she yelped, and he frowned.  “The wings would be used, likely, dried and preserved as a charm, but the rest… maybe an abortifacient?  Maybe a protection charm? Depending on how it’s preserved, maybe both?” She rambled until he rolled his eyes and slapped one hand over her mouth to stop her.  It was slightly sticky with apple juice.

“You’re partially right on one of those.  All you needed was a little pressure. We’ll work on it.”  His frown turned deeper and his eyes unfocused. The tips of his fingers dug further into her cheeks, and he sent a stinging pulse of magic through her skin.

“Ow,” she shoved him back, forcing his hand off of her mouth, and rubbed her cheek while glaring at him.  Some of the stickiness transferred to her fingers. “What was that for?”

“Your magic hasn’t returned,” he hummed, flowers and butterflies forgotten, his eyes still not focused on anything in particular.  He extended one hand in her direction but didn’t touch her. She looked at him warily and realized he was digging his own magic as far into her system as he could without being invasive enough to hurt.  He was trying to find her own magical signature that he’d buried deep down, and she turned her own attention inward. She could feel her power, deep beneath her skin, still caught in the golden mesh that he’d wrapped it in earlier.  The web itself was still strong and didn’t show any signs of decay that she could feel.

Had he really never waited long enough to see if it would fade of its own volition?

The thought made her nervous, but he’d already expressed his interest in her value, and that he was trying to reverse it at all…

“This might tingle,” he announced suddenly, at the same moment she felt him shove his raw, unfiltered magic into her own system.  She found herself paralyzed through the sudden pain of all of her nerves lighting up at once with agony. Her tattoos started to glow a sunshine yellow, his magic initiating their use instead of her own cool blue-tinted energy, and she felt herself collapse back against the tree.

He poured himself into her, grabbing at the net and tugging viciously.  The same way he had forced the dampening spell to spread through her, he now tried to suck it all back out.  It _hurt_ , her entire body felt bruised and even Moran coming to clutch at her shoulders felt like torture.  Someone was screaming, was it her?

“Boss…” she heard Moran start uncertainly, and Jim’s snarl for him to _stop talking_ was lost behind the whine that started in the shell of her ear and seemed to vibrate its way into the center of her brain.  This was taking an enormous toll on her, and all she was doing was resisting the assault of his magic. She could see why Jim had needed food and rest before he could even attempt it.

Her eyes had closed the instant he’d started hurting her, and she faintly heard Moran and Moriarty arguing over the sound and feel of wild, uncontrolled power building beneath her skin.  It was going to _burst_ , burn her from the inside out, what had he been _doing…_

There was a third magic that slipped between hers and Moriarty’s, one that tasted like cold metal and distraction, and gently started to untangle them.  It felt like a balm, like a cold glass of summerwine on a hot day, and it wasn’t until she sighed in relief and opened her eyes gratefully, the last of Jim’s magic flowing back into his body, that she saw the lovely woman standing just on the other side of the road.

She had dark hair and pale skin, a pretty heart-shaped face and heavily-lashed eyes that were narrowed in concentration.  Molly found her head unable to hold the features of the other woman’s face still, and recognized a kind of enchantment to keep her from remembering.  She’d cast two of them herself, once on Sherlock and once during an exam. Simple, but quite effective. ‘Commonly pretty’ was the only thought that would stay, but then an interesting shimmer caught her attention.

The woman’s magic was bright silver, reflective and glittering, and she held one hand up, a solid stream surrounding her and Moriarty.  She had tattoos as well, thick concentric lines like the inside of a tree, centering on the middle of her palm and spreading out unevenly to where her arm disappeared inside of austere, structured black robes.  Jim’s magic was white-yellow, the color of a dying star, sparking around him erratically, and he looked murderous. Molly looked down and raised one eyebrow. Her own magic, naturally a rather drab steely-blue, was now a delightful shade of turquoise.  Her tattoos were still glowing, whorls going from aqua to teal, flickering unstably, and the woman snapped her fingers. Instantly, Molly’s magic flared once, evening out, and then faded gently. She felt it settle back into her body, and noticed Jim had gotten control of his own magic much more quickly.  His didn’t so much fade is it disappeared entirely under the iron grip of his self-control. Molly went from overwhelmed by his power to feeling almost turned inside-out from the lack of it.

The only sign he’d struggled at all was one strand of hair stuck haphazardly to the sweat of his forehead and the angry tension in the tendons of his neck.  He ground his teeth together and hissed, “Anthea.”

“My employer,” she said blandly, “would like to speak with you.”

 

* * *

 

The woman, Anthea, whose face Molly still couldn’t hold in her mind, sat next to Moran and quietly directed him as he held the reins.  The horses didn’t balk at the strong charms surrounding her.

Jim, however, had tried to stab in her the back with his eyes.

He sat sullenly next to Molly on the palanquin, threefold protection spell bright as a sun between them and Athena, and he ground his teeth together audibly.  They’d been practically kidnapped, Athena peacefully sitting on the front board and refusing to leave. She had a shield around her that shimmered like a soap bubble, and it had only flared once.  Molly had caught Jim forcing his hands to relax from fists, the slight aura of his magic fading from his fingertips as he’d picked Molly up with a silent levitation spell and cast her onto the silken pillows roughly.  He’d propelled himself up a second later, and the look on his face deterred her from asking any questions.

They’d been silent for an hour as Moran followed the wide main road.  They didn’t cross paths with anyone else the entire time. No merchants, no travellers, no hunters, not even a single guard.  Anthea had pulled out a thin rectangle of clear quartz that Molly could see held several projections on it, some text in languages she couldn’t decipher and several diagrams that she could control with her index finger.  Molly watched, fascinated, for the better part of the hour, until Jim had poked her temple with two of his fingers, hard, and glared at her when she turned to look at him.

His eyes flicked to Athena, then back to her, and he shook his head.  She’d studied the differences in her tattoos instead, running through exercises to judge her current magical capacity for power, flowing her magic through the magical pathways on her arms and watching them light up interestedly.  The new color, she decided, was very pretty. She still wasn’t sure what it _meant,_ but she felt more powerful than before.  Some part of it felt, faintly, like the magic that she felt around Jim when he cast something large, but… She couldn’t think about that right now.

Anthea took her attention again, silently sliding the slip of quartz into a hidden pocket in her sleeve.  She quietly took the reins from Moran’s unresisting hands, and he set one hand on the pommel of his sword.  Molly raised one eyebrow. Who, exactly, did this woman work for? She wouldn’t dare demand anything of either one of these men, and Anthea did it with absolutely no fear.

As soon as her hands touched the thick leather, the world around them _shifted_.  Not a lot, just enough for Molly to be instantly on guard and the shields around her and Jim to tighten and become so bright she could barely see through the magical mesh.

“Why Anthea,” Jim said lightly, tapping his fingers on one thigh, “I’m-”

“I’ll thank you to not interrupt me while I’m concentrating.”  Her eyes were closed and her voice was soft, but there was a thread of steel in her tone that made Jim snap his teeth shut.  A dark, angry thundercloud of a look settled on his features, and he tilted his head at an inhuman angle.

Molly’s magic felt strange.  She tried to pay attention to what was happening around her, but it felt like everything inside of her was being pushed through a sieve.  Like her entire being was being twisted up and remaking itself, being forced into something that it absolutely could not fit through and did not want to-

Jim’s hand touched hers and he sent a pulse of magic through her.

She released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, drawing in a great gasp of air as he soothed her, and when she weakly opened her eyes, he was staring straight ahead.

“It’s disconcerting, the first time, if you don’t know what’s happening.” he murmured, blinking slowly.  “I’ve used this technique before, shoving someone into a half-dimension without warning, to get… well, nevermind.  It’s very effective.”

A half-dimension?  She’d read about those, studied them, but had never had practical exposure to one.  A very, very useful spell to master if you wanted to hide something. When done well, it could layer a second reality on top of the one that existed, and you could walk right through it and never know.  They were uncommon, labor and power intensive, but Molly nervously realized that this was the woman that had caught that dragon in the extremely powerful time loop. Long distance, this woman hadn’t been anywhere nearby when Jim and Molly had stumbled upon the nest.  The power… Who could possibly employ someone like this? She was strong enough to be in charge of almost anything, Molly was willing to bet she could even give Jim a run for his money if she tried to wrest his business from him, legal and less, by combat.

Jim’s magic ran against hers, smoothing the transition, and she gave him a weak smile.  He didn’t return it, but his eyes did flicker over her face, apparently finding her appearance satisfactory enough.  He looked away and removed his hand.

She clutched her bag closer to her and looked around them.

The path had shifted into a meadow, tall bell-flowers swaying in a breeze she couldn’t feel, and she automatically started cataloguing the rich variety of flora she could see.  Her hands itched to harvest some of the harder to find varieties, ones she knew would apply to her studies, but before she could think about hopping down, Jim reached over and grabbed her chin.

“Do not,” he said gently, his fingernails digging into her skin and his eyes slightly wild, “speak if you are not spoken to.  Do not introduce yourself. Stay behind me or Moran. I would leave you on the palanquin, but I will be forced to contain it. This man is not someone you should never have met.”  He shook her head once, hard, and hissed, “Do you _understand_ , little pathologist?”

She swallowed and nodded slowly, whispering, “I understand.”

He looked at her again, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks, a halo of gold surrounding them, and he released her chin abruptly.  She felt the residue of some of his magic as it healed the slightly stinging wounds his fingernails had left behind when they’d broken through her skin.  His eyes strayed to her chin, and watched the skin knit itself back together and smooth over.

She felt something around them _click_ into place, and the discomfort of being shoved through a strainer stopped.

They’d made the transition into this separate layer of reality.

Molly peered into the narrow strip between Moran and Anthea and blinked.  There was an ornate rug, patterned red, white and gold, and a large sofa, with its back to them, and behind that, she saw a man.  He made eye contact with her and gave an insincere smile.

“Nice to meet you at last,” he called, “Molly Hooper.”

 

* * *

 

Molly sat squished between Jim and Moran on the sofa.  It was upholstered in a thick blue damask, stuffed with something too soft, and she slid into her cushion uncomfortably.  ‘Like a bug into a pitcher plant,” she thought uneasily, and perched herself on the edge. Moran, too large to do that, sat fully back but kept his legs tense.

Jim sat easily, with one ankle resting delicately on his knee, and he’d balanced one elbow on the arm of the sofa, resting his hand on his palm and smiling in a way that made Molly not want to look at him.

He’d had that smile since the man in front of them had called her name, then gently picked her up with a levitation spell and set her down onto a soft mossy spot in the meadow before folding the palanquin back into the spinel, which then slipped into his pocket.  He’d lead the way to the sofa and directed them where to sit silently.

Anthea remained on the cart.

The man in front of them was… unusually plain.  There was something familiar about the set of his jaw, the shape of his nose, but the way his face was arranged was… Molly struggled to find a flattering way to think of his features, finally landing on deciding that if she’d met him in another setting, she wouldn’t have remembered him.  Not the same magical way she wouldn’t remember Anthea, but she just… wouldn’t remember him. He was commonly colored, pinkish skin that was showing signs of age and stress, especially around the eyes. His hair was thinning, a pale brown, and slightly longer than was fashionable, but was neatly combed back.  His eyes were memorable, not for their unremarkable dark brown, but for the coldness that was in them. He was taller than Jim, she noted, but had a slight paunch that not even his fashionable gray suit could disguise. He had a plain black umbrella leaning against the arm of his chair, despite the fact that it wasn’t supposed to rain that day.

Jim seemed to content to let the silence drag out, and his smile stretched wider as a tea set popped into existence on the spindly table next to the man that must have been Anthea’s employer.

To her surprise, the man proceeded to make tea using his hands instead of his magic, though he did produce a stream of steaming water from his palm.  He sprinkled dried leaves into the open top of the teapot, the water splashing in after. Instantly the comforting aroma of hot tea blanketed the meadow and Molly found herself relaxing down into the sofa.  She felt safe, comfortable, and the feeling struck her as being _wrong._ She was in the middle of a half-dimension, surrounded by some of the strongest magicians she’d ever been faced with and her thigh was pressed uncomfortably against that of a _berserker._

She blinked twice and sent a pulse of magic through her system, interrupting whatever spell the man had been trying to cast.

He was smiling at her, and even Jim had turned to look at her in curiosity.

“Interesting,” he murmured, and flicked his eyes to Moran.

The berserker unsheathed his sword and drove it through the carpet, into the soft loam in front of Molly.  She blinked and instinctively shrank against his side, sliding herself more fully behind the thick blade. After a heartbeat she shook herself and ran her energy through her hands.  If she needed to, she could defend herself or die trying. Molly Hooper didn’t _hide._

Jim, however, had already turned his attention back to the man swirling the teapot thoughtfully with one hand.  “I’ll thank you, Mycroft Holmes,” he drawled, “to not cast anything on those in my employ without my permission.”

Forgetting his earlier warning, Molly sputtered, “ _Holmes?_  As in _Sherlock_ Holmes?”  She craned her neck to look around the sword.

“My dear brother _has_ mentioned you a time or two, Miss Hooper.”

Ignoring the poisonous glare Jim sent her way, Molly gaped at Mycroft Holmes and realized that was why he looked faintly familiar.  Now that she knew he was Sherlock’s brother… she could recognize the similarity of their facial features, that annoying set to his head and the annoyingly superior way that he spoke.

“Tell me,” he said, in what must have been an attempt to be charming, “What is it, exactly, that you do for Mr. Moriarty?”

“Quality control specialist,” Jim quipped, trying to bring the attention back to himself, “Part time, until she finishes her studies, then I aim to rectify the gaps I see in her basic magical education.  Dear me, Mr Holmes, you should do something to regulate these schools that keep on cropping up all over the place. Someone is going to get _hurt._ ”  His grin was knife sharp, and he deliberately spread his legs, hooking one foot over hers, and clasped his hands between his lean thighs.  He neglected to mention, she noticed, that the counterfeit scales _he_ provided her in the first place could have done irredeemable damage to the city and potentially dozens of lives.

She kept her own mouth shut on the matter and mutely looked down at her own hands.

‘Don’t be stupid, Molly Hooper,’ she scolded herself, ‘Just stay quiet and live to see another day.’

There was a space of time that was filled with silence, Mycroft Holmes pouring five cups of tea, delicate china popping into the air every time he started to pour.  Each cup and saucer balanced in a neat formation, lined up like soldiers, and once he’d poured the last cup and kept it to himself, the rest floated over to each of them.

Jim gently caught her own before she could reach for it and watched for both Anthea and Mycroft to take a sip before tapping the rim with his finger and handing it to her.  Her cup tingled pleasantly in her hands, and she felt the anti-potion and anti-poison charms flare to life when she drank. There was a golden bubble that was only visible to her eyes, and if the drink had been tampered with, it would have poured fresh water into her mouth instead.

This tea, fortunately, held nothing but tea and what tasted like the slightest hint of lemon, and she sighed in appreciation at the strength and balance of the delicate blend.

“Those dragons,” Mycroft started pleasantly, once they’d all taken a moment to enjoy the warm beverage, “are the property of the Crown.  You interfered with a very delicate operation. We are… displeased.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. Molly felt her magic flare erratically under her skin, and wished she could be anywhere else.  She could not envision this conversation going anywhere but down.

Jim hummed and took another sip.  He didn’t say anything, but the smile he gave was anything but friendly.  He didn’t look at Molly, but she knew she needed to bite her tongue. Moran didn’t react at all.  She thought, absently, that Moran reacting to anything had the potential to be quite frightening and she hoped she’d never have to see it.

The atmosphere was tense and uncomfortable, and Molly’s childhood lectures in etiquette and decorum kept trying to prod her to start a conversation or attempt to play host.  She squashed it and sank back further into the cushions. Another fifteen minutes passed, and the teapot floated around to refill their cups.

The bubble charm still worked, and she still got to sip fragrant, flavorful tea.

“Is there anything else?” Jim said, his tone slathered with boredom, and he dropped his teacup before the pot could come to him.  It vanished into a spray of iridescent bubbles before it hit the ground. “If there isn’t, I think we’ll be going now. Cats to feed, shops to run, you understand.”

Something hot and terrible passed between Jim Moriarty and Mycroft Holmes, and it made Molly shrink slightly against Moran.  There was a lot of history here, she realized, and she desperately didn’t want to dig any deeper. This was something she was absolutely better off not knowing.  There was an entire conversation happening with no words, she could feel it but she couldn’t see it, and she resisted her natural curiosity to dig her magic in and find out what it was.

Mycroft nodded once, a short, stiff movement, and Jim stood gracefully.  Molly and Moran followed suit. The huge spinel had already slipped itself out of Jim’s pocket to hover over the bed of the cart.  As Anthea lowered herself off of the cart, Mycroft spoke up, “I’ll be seeing you soon, Molly Hooper.”

Without looking back, as he grabbed her by the waist and launched them both into the still-unfolding palanquin, Jim sang, “No you won’t.”  He pressed her down into the pillows and partially covered his body with hers, as if anticipating an attack.

Anthea shoved them out of the half-dimension with enough force to make Molly’s head spin.  Jim clutched her tighter, and Molly wondered wildly what in the hell she’d done to get the attention of people like Jim Moriarty and Mycroft Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was worth the wait. :) Let me know if you enjoyed it!


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